you'll leave that boring little life behind
by eternal-state-of-voorpret
Summary: It's kind of jarring to have the world outgrow its need for you...even if it's all you've sworn you wanted since you were twelve. (Or, the life, the times and the musings of Percy Jackson, when everything seems new and frightful, and extremely quiet.)


**HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY!**

 **Look, if you guys get what this is: Congratulations, you've got to tell me what it is. Basically, I'm calling it a series of snapshots when nothing's really happening in Percy's life and when he had thought they should be. Just random unimportant points in this (hopefully) long life he's going to live, with an pseudo-angsty commentary (it's really supposed to be happy, guys!) by him. It's in no particular order, but I've time-stamped it to make sense...at least time line wise.**

 **Don't** **...take this too seriously. Do feel free to engage in conversation via comments though!**

 **P.S. Yep, the title is taken from "Strong" from the Lightning Thief Musical. Oh, Percy...you've got a big storm coming.**

* * *

" _For once, I didn't look back."_

 _— Percy Jackson,_ The Last Olympian.

* * *

 **September, 2012. (18 years)**

The first week in California is unbearable. He's eighteen, and it's not his first time in the west coast but it is his first time at college and _gods_ does it suck as much as his twelve year old self had anticipated.

It's kind of stupid, he's got to admit. Annabeth's here. Grover's here. Tyson and Hazel and Frank…they're all hardly a car drive away. Sure, he misses his mom and Paul and Estelle, and the way New York City looked at night time and the way New York City sounded in the day time, but this is what he wants. This is what he'd been fighting for, this is what he'd refused helping Apollo for. College. California. New start with old friends.

College sucks. College blows harder than the west wind and it is hot and it is relaxed and it is on the other side of the fricking country.

He lives in the boys' dorms, and Annabeth's on the other side of campus, chasing her architectural dreams. They meet everyday for break and lunch and between class hours, and evenings and weekends are spent taking long walks together, letting the warm air settle around them.

"It's so different," Annabeth says unexpectedly one day. "You know, from home."

She means Camp Half Blood, Percy knows. She means her brothers and sisters and their friends—campers like Clarisse and Will and the Stolls, people as good as family. Chiron, as good a father as either of them had got. She means the strawberry fields and the canoe lake and the beach and the campfires. She means those eleven years of pain and anticipation and love and safety.

Her home. Camp Half Blood is his home too, of course. It's a part of his heart. He misses it.

He misses New York, though, the most. New York City. The avenues and the skyscrapers and bodegas and parks and the people. He misses New York City and he misses his friends, and he misses the small apartment with the cracked china cabinet and his family, and he misses the Prius with the hoof marks, and he misses the drive to Long Island Sound. They're all memories tainted by horror—prophecies, and exploding ships and Minotaurs and dead friends. They're still his though. They're memories that he wants to miss.

(California is full of ghosts. California is full of ghosts, and most of them aren't even his. The mountains and beaches of the state are littered with bodies—Zoë's and Jason's and so many countless others.

It makes sense that the underworld is below the state. There's no better place.)

"Maybe this can become home," Percy says instead, despite everything. "With enough time."

Annabeth shrugs. "Sure," she says, "We're no strangers to here."

They aren't. Nearly every year Percy has found himself dragged to California—in limousines and on the backs of Pegasi and by meddlesome goddesses and by funeral invitations. By war. A college acceptance letter is a nice change.

(New York City is full of bodies. Not ghosts. Just bodies littering Lincoln Tunnel, and Williamsburg Bridge, and the bare streets of Manhattan. Camp Half Blood. New York City is full of blood, and it has been soaked into the concrete.)

Annabeth's still alive. She's still his. Their friends are scattered to the winds. New York, Arizona, Indiana, Oklahoma. They might be ghosts themselves. Some are bodies.

Annabeth's still alive.

"Your dad must be over the moon," Percy says. "He did want you to come down here for ages. Good time too, after all the family things…"

"And now he's running to Boston." Annabeth grins. "What a mess…having children in threes is just tempting fate I guess. Two would be enough for me. I've met lots of happy families with two kids."

Percy thinks about Jason and he thinks about Bianca, and he thinks about who they left behind. He thinks about Apollo and Artemis.

(Two is a good number for siblings, Percy thinks, but one loss can slash that fraction into half.)

"Like the Stolls," Percy says instead. This is a game he'll be playing for a long time. The game of ghosts. The game of not saying what he's thinking. "Or Carter and Sadie, actually. Ah, the Kanes were good kids."

"We should try to keep in touch with them," Annabeth agrees. They're people left in New York too, but they're people in an untouched part of the city. There's no blood flowing through those roads.

(Maybe there aren't any ghosts in California. Maybe there aren't any ghosts in New York either. Maybe it's all in his head.)

"Cool," Percy says. They've reached her dormitory. He leans in and kisses her. "Goodnight, Annabeth, catch you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth says. "Don't look so glum. This'll feel like home." She shuts the door behind her.

Percy's not so sure of that. Jason had spent a good chunk of his life here and a short stint at a camp run by a Wine God and a centaur had been all that was required for him to jump ship. Jason had lived the last few months of his life over here, but more out of duty than wish.

Was this more a duty than a wish? Was college an obligation? Did he even want this?

Percy can't answer that. He wants to major in marine biology and get a paper back with a big fat A in red ink, and he wants to settle down and lead a quiet life. College is just a stepping stone for that map. He's at the threshold of a new and frightening beginning, but so is everyone else in his freshman year. Maybe nobody wanted to go to college. Maybe they just needed a degree for their dream job, or maybe wanted a chance at school again. Maybe they wanted to try something new. How many of these people had left behind ghosts? Left behind their hometowns and big cities and little suburbs?

"Dude!" Someone shouts and the next minute a frisbee slams into his back. A burly looking guy stumbles into view, offering apologies and are you okays. Finally the guy, someone named Daniel, asks him if he wants to join in.

Percy throws the frisbee back at him. Then he nods. He's got to start somewhere.

* * *

 **Spring, 2016. (22 years)**

"One more semester to go," Tracy says as they lay in the dewy grass of their favourite park. "We're here folks—one more hurdle and we've finished this race."

Annabeth laughs at her from her position against the tree. It's their favourite picnic spot—it's been so for the past four years.

"I still can't believe we're leaving this place," Daniel says, as he has said many many times over the past month. "I'm finally done with exams guys. After nearly two decades! I can't wait to sleep again."

"Wow, dude," Percy say in mock anger, "I'm going to be stuck here for a while you know."

"Professor Jackson," Annabeth says, leaning over to kiss him. "Or, well, soon to be Professor Jackson. Member of the marine biology department."

"You'll be head of it in no time," Lily says with conviction, curled up next to her girlfriend. "I mean, it's only a matter of age."

"Oh, come on—" Percy starts but Daniel cuts him off with his enthusiastic nodding.

"No, seriously dude," he says. "You're a genius. Were you such a nerd at high school too?"

Grover snorts so loud that it scares a couple of elementary schoolers hanging out in the park. Annabeth smiles very, very wide and looks knowingly at him.

Percy shrugs pseudo-modestly at his roommate. "Answer that yourself Gallagher."

Daniel shakes his head. "I'm just going to say—late bloomer?"

"I just have more time," Percy agrees. "And less subjects."

"Well, alright that's cool and all," Lily say as she sits up straighter. "You want to talk about nerds? Tracy's going to be valedictorian. A hundred bucks."

"No one's crazy enough to take the bet," Annabeth says. "We all know, Lils."

Grover raises his hand. "That Timmy kid is pretty competitive from what you guys tell me."

"Timmy?" Annabeth asks.

"Timmy," Daniel echos. "And we know him through…"

"He's in our course," Tracy says with a non committal hand wave, gesturing at Lily and herself. "Grover knows him since he's into all those nature drives."

"Oh, _that_ Timmy," Percy says. "He's on the swim team as well. Regular gold medalist."

"Well, then, certainly valedictorian," Daniel says with a sidelong glance at Annabeth. She looks amused as well. "You know, since you guys all seem to know him so well."

"He's very sweet. I don't think I'd mind him being so," starts Tracy but Lily cuts her off with a "Not against you!"

Grover clears his throat. "Anyway, about that drive I was talking about—"

They all cut him off with excuses and apologies. Grover huffs and casts his eyes towards the heavens.

"You know," he says, sniffing dramatically as they laugh, "I really wish Timmy was my friend instead."

* * *

 **February, 2022. (31 years)**

 _Piper M. and Kevin B._ reads the invitation. Tahlequah, Oklahoma reads the postal address.

Piper McLean is getting married. She's the last of the "Seven" to, but not by very much. Hazel and Frank had got back together less than a half year ago and immediately eloped, then had a grand ceremony in which Nico had gotten to be flower boy.

 _Some_ of their teenage plans had remained intact.

Kevin Braithwaithe is Caribbean, drop-dead gorgeous and thirty-one, a year older than Piper; he's known her for six years. They've been engaged for about a year and a half. This one has been a long time coming.

Percy's face breaks into huge grin when he sees the cream envelope and flashes it under Annabeth's nose. Annabeth nearly rips it open and they're immediately engulfed in a cloud silver glitter.

"Jackie," they both say at once. It's Piper's little cousin in Oklahoma. All her school projects are doused in tubs of glitter.

"Finally," Annabeth says. "I mean—didn't Kevin pop the question about two years ago?"

"A year and a half," Percy corrects. He knows this because Leo had been tasked with helping Kevin find a ring, and he had run into Percy in a departmental store in New York, a reunion that had been nearly three years in the making.

"I'll put it down in the calendar," Annabeth says and pushes back from the table to write _P &K's Big Day _under the 25th of April. "We should call them. It's been a busy few months since we've kept in touch."

It's been nearly seven months since they've talked to Piper and Kevin in person, at game night when they'd all miraculously ended up in San Francisco, of all places. Percy and Annabeth had been visiting her Dad, and Hazel and Frank had been visiting Camp Jupiter and Will had a doctor's conference that Nico had tagged along on, and Leo, Calypso, Piper and Kevin had been doing a cross-country road trip. They'd all crashed in Reyna's house after a night of Pictionary and charades and Rachel had dropped by the next morning.

(Seven months was quite a while, but they'd actually gone longer without talking to each other. For years after the immediate aftermath of the Triumvirate Percy and Annabeth hadn't seen Piper or Leo, Oklahoma and Indiana respectively. All through college they'd only see Hazel and Frank and Reyna and Grover from their old demigod lives. The move back to New York City had meant sharing an apartment with Rachel and Nico and Will in a desperate attempt to combat Manhattan real estate prices.)

"So I guess you're going to be busy with Piper and all?" Percy asks Annabeth. "Gown fitting, cake tasting, wine tasting…Maid of Honour and all?"

Annabeth nods, still engrossed in the invitation. "Yeah…Hazel and Lacy and Jackie…we're all going to be busy with the preparation. Knowing Piper she'll be ready to get married in jeans." She smiles. "What about you?"

Percy's not best man. He loves Kevin like a brother, and he knows Kevin does too, but he's got _actual_ brothers. Three of them, and two sisters. Percy's still pretty involved in the wedding party, but not in the way he was involved in Grover's, or Leo's, or Frank's. Not in the way he'd been Best Man for Daniel all those years ago in California. Not in the way he'll be involved when Nico and Will _finally_ get hitched.

He still needs to go look at the venues with Kevin. He'd got the call a couple of days ago; beach wedding and all—it was in Percy's element, quite literally.

"Yeah, just a bit busy." Percy takes a bite of his waffle, watches the syrup drip down back into the plate. "We're going to be seeing where we can have the wedding. Piper's only criteria is no tsunamis apparently. Not that that's likely. Dad would need to really disapprove of the marriage for that to happen. Piper's alright in his book I guess. No child of his brothers's or anything."

Briefly, and unnecessarily, Percy wonders if there will be rain on the 25th of April. Wonders if lightning will crack against the sky and if there's going to be an empty seat in the front row of the ceremony. Wonders if Piper will break off the wedding dramatically, sighing after a boy who died fourteen years ago. Wonders if Piper is thinking of this herself, if she hesitates when she writes Kevin Braithwaithe on the invitation card, or if she rolls around to face her fiancé in the middle of the night and is taken aback, just for a second.

Percy immediately rubbishes the thought. Piper's been head over heels in love with Kevin for the past six years, and Kevin has basically given his heart away to her. They've known each other for so long, and they've loved each other for so long and here Percy is, throwing an hypothetical ex ( _dead_ ex, _sixteen year old_ ex) in between them. _Percy's_ known Kevin for so long, and so well—six years better than he'll ever know the uncertain sixteen year old boy he'd met one summer more than a decade ago.

(Percy wonders if somewhere, someplace, Jason Grace is watching the girl he loved—maybe even _loves_ —dance around the kitchen with someone who is essentially a stranger to him. He wonders if he sees his friends move on with their lives, getting married and having babies and working in their dream jobs. If he's moved on too in the Elysium, forever sixteen and forever dead, but with new friends and new chances. If he's tried for rebirth, if he's the polite teenager Percy caught a short glimpse of yesterday, or the little kid he saw on the subway eight years ago, or a baby he hadn't noticed fifteen years ago.

Percy wonders if he's a hero this time too, a son of Hermes, or Ares, or Hephaestus, or perhaps Mercury or Mars or Vulcan, if he loves someone else—a nice boy or girl who will laugh at him and with him and grow old together. If he has been given a prophecy by the new Oracle, if he will die this time too before he can get his learning licence.

He wonders if Jason is just hanging around in the Elysium for now, waiting for friends he doesn't really know and who, despite all the mourning and missing and crying, don't really know him either. If he enjoys the peace, the anonymity of death.)

He doesn't know where Jason would have like to get married. He can't imagine it would be the beach.

"Montauk was amazing," Annabeth says. She clinks her spoon to the edge of her cereal bowl. Percy smiles a bit at her words, knowing that she's thinking about last year when they'd stood at a makeshift altar at Montauk beach and exchanged vows and rings and kissed in front of all their friends and families. "It's going to be a beautiful wedding."

Percy can't help but agree. They'd stayed there in the cabin long after all their guests had gone home, and it had been the best night of his life. He can remember how his chest had tightened in weird, not uncomfortable way every time he glanced at Annabeth's hand and saw the ring glint up at him. He had gone to bed the happiest man alive.

He thinks he still is. He thinks that after years and years of war and strife and hurt, he's earned it, this right to a quiet life, this right to say no.

He's the happiest man. He's alive. Who'd have thought?

"I've got to go." Annabeth stands up, kisses his cheek. He turns and catches her mouth instead. They stand still for a moment or two, and then Percy pulls away, smiles and wishes her a good day at work. One of the best things about being a teacher is that you never lost the peace of a lazy public holiday, even if there are always tests to grade and homework to correct. Annabeth works at a huge and fancy architectural firm, where the littlest people are the kids who troop in on Bring Your Child To Work day. The door closes behind her, and Percy's left standing in their apartment's kitchen, a mug of coffee in one hand and the wedding invitation in another.

It's proof of life going on. It's undeniable proof of life going on _good_. Of doing a complete three-sixty, of getting unbelievably better after an unbearably dark and desolate time.

Still. At the same time, it's also proof that the world can run off without you just fine. It's proof that in the grand scheme of things nothing's ever permanent, and nothing's ever really as important as you think.

(Also, he thinks, as he looks back at the invitation and feels himself begin to smile. Nothing's sad enough to sink the world's reputation of being a happy place.)

 **OoOoO**

 **(sometime when percy was feeling scared.)**

Percy can't remember Jason Grace all that well. It's a horrible thing to say out loud, but it's true. Percy can't remember Jason all that well, and it's partly because it's been such a long time since all of it, but it's also because—mostly because—he doesn't _know_ Jason all that well.

Jason Grace. Son of Jupiter and Beryl Grace. Kid brother of Thalia Grace. Champion of Hera. Praetor of the Twelfth Legion. Pontifex Maximus. Bridge of the Camps.

Dead. Sixteen. One more kid who had lost his life in a surfing accident.

(One more kid who had lost his life to the gods.)

For weeks after Percy had gotten the news, he had been cold. Just ice cold. He had gone to the funeral, paid his respects and come home and hugged his mom and sister and step father as tight as life, but gods above, he could _not_ get rid of the cold.

For months later, Percy had made it a point not to forget. He had pored over Jason's plans and blueprints with Annabeth, had fought Caligula and the Triumvirate with all his might. He had remembered and grieved for his cousin, for someone who had lived a life shorter than his, and less than half full of his.

For years later, he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember his voice, or his favourite song or his favourite food, or which side his scar was on. He couldn't remember, or perhaps he just didn't know.

Jason's name blurred with so many other of his friends; friends he'd known longer, friends who had died earlier, friends who he couldn't really remember either, friend he didn't really know. Beckendorf, Lee, Silena, Michael. The list went on. It went on and on and on.

He still felt the chill sometimes. The chill of death. The cold that froze his bones. Jason's death had stayed with him for long. Longer than he had expected. It had stretched and bludgeoned and—

The di Angelos had been targeted by Zeus. Thalia had had the worst creatures of hell loosened upon her by Hades. Hazel had been _killed_ by Gaia. Percy had been given a death sentence for his sixteenth birthday.

Jason had died for a pair of shoes. Jason had been the strongest of them all, skill-wise, and definitely the most trained. And he had been the youngest, technically, if you went birth-year wise.

Jason had died, and he had left Percy so hurt, so grieved, so cold.

So _scared_.

Percy had never wanted to be a half-blood. He had thought that had changed over the years. Maybe it had. Maybe he just didn't want to be a hero.

* * *

 **July, 2013. (18 years)**

"Go Fish," Annabeth says and Paul smacks his forehead loudly. Mom lets out a laugh, soft and tinkling and Percy can't help but smile.

"You're really bad at this, aren't you?" Percy asks his stepdad as he grumbles good-naturedly and collects his cards. "We shouldn't have been playing for candy."

"Oh, he's gotten better," Mom says. "I remember when we had just begun to go out and he still lived with his brother. How much do you think you lost to him, Paul?"

"Enough to buy a better house." Paul sighs and leans back against his chair. "Oh, Harry. He eloped with that New England girl, Cara. Mom's been after him for weeks. It's taken the heat off the rest of us for the moment."

Paul has four siblings. Two brothers and two sisters and an old mastiff that's miraculously still hanging on. His father had died years ago, when Paul had still been in high school, and his mom had raised five children all on her own and built a company on her back. Now, with retirement and more grandchildren than she knew what to do with, she spent weekends trying to gather all her children under the same roof.

Paul was currently winning the favourite kid game, what with two new grandchildren for her to spoil rotten.

"Go Fish," Mom said and Percy looked down to see that yes, in fact, Percy had royally screwed up. Both Paul and Annabeth burst into laughter and Percy groaned.

"I'll go get some more bean dip," Mom said, making to get up, but Paul beat her to it with a quick "I'll get it" and a kiss on her cheek. Mom settled back down and smiled at the both of them, and for a minute Percy felt very warm; he remembered how barely five years ago this very card table and these very chairs had been occupied by what Percy's naïve mind had considered the worst monsters to grace his life.

It was kind of crazy how things could change. Kind of crazy how things could get better.

 **OoOoO**

 **(sometime when percy was feeling grateful)**

Percy had met his first monster at the age of four, and the monster had given him a lollipop.

Gabe Ugliano wasn't a nice man. There wasn't a story or explanation for his cruelty and nastiness. No downward spiral, no tragic incident. He had showed up one Tuesday and had handed Percy a lollipop and that had been his one good act towards Percy for the next eight years. He had been turned into stone and auctioned off and sold to a museum and for years afterwards Percy had not given him a thought. A brief _oh that smells like Smelly Gabe_ when he came across dirty snacks or Grover's green smoothie but nothing more than that.

It's after Tartarus that the nightmares begin. There are monsters and titans and giants and there is Gabe in the middle of it all, just as dangerous and just as frightening as the rest of them.

It's a mark of how far life has turned around for him that it's Paul who shakes him awake from the nightmare, face pinched in concern and care.

Percy doesn't tell him about Gabe. He assumes he knows at least a bit of it because of Mom, and he knows that Paul gets all concerned and up in arms about Poseidon's negligence, and he _knows_ he's a God. He can just about imagine what he might do to Gabe's statue.

Ha. Paul's the only one of his "fathers" (Gabe really should not count) who doesn't have a statue. Percy's mulling over this just has Estelle bursts into tears from the other room. Paul sighs and gets up to leave but hesitates at the doorway of Percy's room. "You alright?" He asks and when Percy nods and waves him off, he complies.

He comes back. "She's asleep," Paul says, unnecessary as Percy can see his younger sister fast asleep in his step-father's arms. Paul sits next to him deep into the night and Percy wakes up the next day on his shoulder.

Percy doesn't hate Poseidon. It's kind of weird and strained, their relationship, but he doesn't hate him. He doesn't even dislike him. He thinks there was a time when he did, and he thinks that time was a long few years but he's older and wiser and seen much more of his friend's families. All things considered, he's not the worst. Not the best perhaps, but certainly not the worst.

Paul's the best. He's met Hera and Persephone and Hephaestus and Ares and Annabeth's stepmom and _Gabe_ , and as far as step parents go, Paul's beating them all by miles. Even Amphitrite, who's as warm as immortal stepmoms get and who's actually not bad as a goddess either. Paul's the world's best stepdad, and Percy has half the mind to buy a mug that says that for him if he hadn't already known that Paul has way too many mugs than a normal human should, thanks to his students.

Estelle's the world's best younger sister. Now, _that's_ a category that has some stiff contest but she edges out competition, Percy knows for sure. Between her and Tyson, he's the luckiest big brother alive.

The less said of his mom, the shorter it would be. Sally Jackson isn't the world's best mother. She's the world's best person. Years ago, young and hurt and not yet aware of his heritage, Percy had thought to himself, with all the conviction of a pre-teen: the best people in life have the rottenest luck. He thinks it's true still, to a degree, when he thinks of Jason and Piper and the rest, but there's also a part of him that thinks, eventually that bad luck runs out. One way or another, you learn to smile and one way or another you find a family.

(He thinks of this sometimes. He thinks of this when his friends shoot him a smile at camp and announce that they're a family, that they're all the family they need, and remembers that for so many of them—for Annabeth and Nico and Leo and Frank and Hazel and Thalia and so many others—that's the unavoidable truth. That's all they need. That's all they _get_. Because sometimes you have a family, and sometimes you lose them to the world and to themselves and to death and you make do with whoever's left. It's not a bad way to find the people you love, but it is undeniably, a hard way to do so.)

Percy's lost people. He's gained so many more. It's the same as the others. The only difference? It's never been one fell blow that's taken all he loved away, it's never been a loss that has taken away his entire family.

Because at the end of the day, it's not all he gets. He gets his friends and he gets his mortal family, and he gets to go home to house that's away from the monotony of Camp life.

Percy has lost so, so much, but sometimes when he counts the people in his life and measures the love in it it's hard to feel sorry for himself.

* * *

 **July, 2014. (19 years)**

Damien Torres is twelve, and shy, and gangly. He's also the hero of the prophecy.

It's a normal quest like any other. Run of the mill monster attacks, impromptu visits from gods, crazy, reckless moments of bravery and stupidity. He comes back alive and is raised on his siblings's shoulders and watches his deep red shroud burn to ashes on repurposed funeral pyre.

Percy watches with him. He congratulates him, and smiles at him and claps him on the back, and feels uneasy the whole time.

He feels like a liar.

It's when Annabeth and him are finally alone in his cabin that he voices it out. The unfairness, the cruelty. This should have never happened. This was what was _agreed_ would never happen. Annabeth listens carefully and quietly and she's silent for a long while after he's done. Then she sighs and plops down on his bed.

"You were twelve once too," Annabeth says. "You were there."

"That's the _point_." Percy knows that Annabeth understands what he means perfectly well. He knows what she means too. They just like being difficult. "I was there, but I certainly didn't want to be."

"Well, either way, it doesn't matter," Annabeth says. "It's not up to us. We've had our time, and it's sucked deeply sometimes, but it's over now. It's Damien's turn. Let's just…let's just let him have that."

Percy wants to argue that. He opens his mouth then, petulant and stubborn still. "Why can't the gods just stop?"

Annabeth blows back a strand of her hair then, and she looks awfully young. She looks awfully tired. "Let's not have this conversation today, Percy."

"It's just not fair," Percy says. "This is ridiculous. This is exactly why Luke—" He breaks off there. His words turn to ash in his mouth. Annabeth stares up at him.

Percy wonders if years ago another half-blood, the same age as he is now, had run the same arguments through his mind, formed the same reasons. He wonders if the only difference there is between them is experience. He wonders if he'd let the world burn if it would make the world fair.

When do people become so jaded? Do you lose and lose and lose till you want to bring down the world with you?

At this point Percy can't tell if he's rationalising Luke's actions, or the gods'. He knows that at the end of the day, he doesn't have half as good a reason as any of them.

But then, who really has a good enough reason to bring down the rest of the world with them? Who can really decided on who lives and who dies, whoever cruel circumstances get?

"I'm sorry," he tells Annabeth. She doesn't deserve going through this again in her lifetime. Annabeth gives him a thin smile in return.

"Maybe we just don't know any better," she says, and Percy has to acquiesce. If Annabeth Chase, who once argued with the Sphinx for not getting harder questions in a murderous mythological maze, can admit that she has no better idea about what's fair than the rest of them, Percy really doesn't have a leg to stand on.

"It's not fair," Annabeth agrees. "No part of it. You don't get fair here. You only get lucky in this world, Percy."

 **OoOoO**

 **(sometime when percy was feeling bitter.)**

The thing is this; on the eve of his sixteenth year Percy Jackson was supposed to die. He was supposed to be reaped by a cursed blade and make a choice that would either destroy or save the world and in the end all he had done was plead with Annabeth to give Luke her dagger. On the eve of his sixteenth year, Rachel Elizabeth Dare looked him in the eye and told him that he was not the hero of the prophecy, and also that never mind, this not-relationship is never going to work.

The thing is this; on the dawn of of his sixteenth year Percy Jackson saw his future laid out in front of him by the Fates, and he was offered another by the gods. You see, for his sixteen years Percy Jackson was prophesied to die, and for the rest of his life he was promised that he would live—one way or another, forever or just for a really long time.

Percy had refused immortality, and it had mostly been for the peace that he had thought would last, for his mom and Annabeth and his friends, but it had also been because he had been tempted. He had seen the sheer power, the endless opportunity and he had seen the sad lives of the gods. He had said no, and he had said no, and he had said no.

That's the difference he thinks, that's kept him alive for so long. He's said no. Constantly. Always. He said no to the prophecy at first, and had taken it on only when there had been no other alternative. He had said no the Luke, to Kronos, to the gods. He remembers turning Apollo's invitation to join him down and remembers going home and settling down to study for his SATs.

(You see, Percy Jackson fell into Tartarus for the girl he loved. He saved the world for his friends. He helped Apollo for revenge. At the end of the day, when the faces at Camp became unfamiliar, and his scent became weaker and weaker, he fled from the demigod world and tested the limits of his mortality, of his mundanity. He ran and ran and ran. He didn't come back. He didn't look back.)

Athena might have called it loyalty, but Percy knows it for what it is. It's a desperate attempt to not lose anything he loves, even at the cost of the entire world. It's selfishness.

That's his fatal flaw, he thinks, sometimes. But he dismisses the thought always. It can't be _fatal_ —it's kept him alive too long for that.

He doesn't know if he's a hero. He knows he's saved the world a couple of times. He knows he's killed a bunch of monsters. He knows that he is capable of spur of the moment, selfless acts when it really comes to it.

He also knows that he's shaped his fatal flaw into his armour, and that's a loophole that's akin to being the child of a prophecy not about yourself.

* * *

 **August, 2013. (19 years)**

The first August where there is no war, there is rain. Torrential downpour newscasters say. Storms. Thunder booms and lightning flashes and rain pours and pours and pours. Percy sits by the window and stares out at the waterlogged New York City streets and watches as the sky cracks into a million pieces, light flashing from the fissures.

It's not Zeus. Well, more accurately, it _is_ Zeus, but it's not them. This storm has nothing to do with

Percy or his world. It's just raining for the sake of it. No lightning bolts are missing, no wars are waging. And even if they are, he has no idea about them.

It's been almost eight months since he has had no idea. It's been five months since the last monster attack. It's been a week since his nineteenth birthday.

The scent is growing weaker by the day. He hasn't visited Camp Half-Blood yet this summer and as college reopens in a couple of days there's a very low chance of him making it out to Long Island Sound. The day after tomorrow he's back on the plane to California and Annabeth.

"Eighth day in a row," his mom says when she joins him by the window with a mug of tea and a large book. Paul and Estelle are sound asleep, his stepfather worn out after drawing up lessons for the new school year all day long. "Does it storm often in California?"

"The gods are in Manhattan," Percy says, though he knows it's not an answer at all. The gods are in Manhattan and they're in San Francisco and in Boston and Brooklyn and probably in Asia and Africa and Europe and the rest of the Americas. Maybe even in Antarctica.

His mom nods and loops her arms around his neck, and places a small kiss on his hair. "Oh, baby," she says, "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll IM you every week," Percy promises, like he does every time he leaves New York. He always does. "And Annabeth and I'll be back for Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year. You won't even see the time fly by."

"Oh, I bet you I will." His mom smiles at him. "But hey, this was the dream right? Going off to a fancy college with your childhood sweetheart…we made it Percy. I'm so proud of you."

"It's already my second year Mom," Percy says, and his mom laughs and kisses his head again and tells him to go to bed, tomorrow's the last day in New York, I'll make blue cookies.

His mom gets teary and proud every semester without fail. It's like clockwork. Estelle whines and babbles and Paul hugs him tight and gives him a pat on the back and Mom cries and smiles and kisses his cheek before waving him off. The first semester he had made the cross-country journey on Blackjack. By the second semester the wind had stopped howling and the world and the gods had reached a tentative peace and his plane had had minimum turbulence.

(Now he doesn't think Zeus even cares. If he even remembers. If Hades does, or Hermes, or even Poseidon. Hera's probably moved on to her next ill-fated experiment and Athena has accepted and forgotten him and Aphrodite's attention has been captured by some other unlucky couple. Percy can board a plane with no fear and he can kiss the love of his life with no sinking feeling in his stomach and he can go to college across the country pursued by no monsters.)

It's been eight months. It's been a long eight months. Percy's not a fool. Peace is never permanent. Tomorrow might be his last and tomorrow there may be another prophecy and tomorrow there may be a phone call bearing bad news. It's not the first time when life has seemed sweet.

But still. This peace may not be permanent, but it has been long.

For the first time since he was twelve, Percy allows himself to sit out in the rain.

 **OoOoO**

 **(sometime when percy was yearning. sometime when percy was content.)**

Look, Percy hadn't wanted to be a half-blood. That's the truth. It's cold and inevitably upsetting, but it's the truth. He had gained friends and he had lost friends and he had gained family and he had lost family, and through it all Percy had waited for that snap that woke him up from a bad dream, for that announcement that it was a bad practical joke.

There are times when he feels that it mustn't be true, when he kisses Annabeth or laughs with his friends and when his life seems so, so sweet. He thinks about what it would be like had he not been a half-blood. Getting peanut butter sandwiches thrown at his head and struggling through English class and having to put up with Nancy Bobofit and Gabe and always feeling that there must be something more to his life than this.

Then he goes back to before that.

The problem is, Percy might have been introduced to the mythological world when he was twelve, but the mythological world had sunk its claws into it long before that. He thinks of his Mom. Her uncle would have still died, but she would have worked odd jobs and raised enough money to put herself through college and earn a degree and find a nice job and married someone who could stay. She would have had Percy and Estelle, and maybe he wouldn't have been called that, and maybe he wouldn't have looked like how he does now but he would still be her son.

He would have been smart, and he wouldn't have struggled to school, and he wouldn't have driven him Mom crazy with worry, and he wouldn't have held the world on his shoulders. Just one more sucker lost in the busy streets of New York.

Percy really doesn't want to be a half-blood. He doesn't know what else to be. He can't fathom a life without Annabeth and Grover and the rest of his friends but there's a small, tinny part in his brain that tells him that had it gone differently, he wouldn't have _needed_ to. Maybe he'd have different childhood friends who would stick to his side through kindergarten and school and college and adult life and maybe he'd look back and wonder how there could have been anyone else in place of them.

(Maybe he'd want to be something more.)

But there's no point wondering anymore. Time's up. He's one more adult left stranded on the precipice of uncertainty. And he has a frightening past to look back on, but there's also a future that promises to be easier. He's with the best people he has had the fortune to know.

The path is maybe a little different than he had necessarily wanted, but he's just one person in a world that doesn't do table service. He's at the same crossroads he'd be at even if he had been completely, undeniably mortal.

One more sucker lost in the busy streets of New York.

* * *

 **(sometime when percy had felt laughably small. sometime** **when percy had been happy.) [sometime when the world spun on, ignorant to everyone's feelings.]**

Piper had told him something once, about how too much change could drive anyone crazy and how that was probably a good explanation for the gods's… _godliness_ , and whenever the gods's shenanigans got unbearably infuriating, this was what he came back to.

Five years. Percy had gone _crazy_. The world had been ripped apart under his feet and shoved back unceremoniously and there had been times where his mind had all but given up.

Status quo is never permanent, but it sends a shiver up his spine anyway. Even his own mind had that annoying knack of changing sides more quickly than the seasons.

Once upon a time, Percy had been young and angry and naïve and bitter, and he had hoped beyond hope for something more. That time had come and it had gone, and it had left behind a boy on the edge of manhood, a boy who—at the core of it all—was tired.

Percy's not tired anymore. Maybe he's still bitter and angry, and perhaps even young and naïve, but he is no longer tired. He's too used to this to be tired. He'll fall asleep during studying, and he'll chow down his mom's blue cookies, and he'll stare up at his dorm room ceiling, and there's a part of him that wishes—momentarily—for something more.

(Human minds had the infinite capacity to move on, to forget and relearn. What Percy is, what Percy _wants_ to be more than anything else is to be human. What humans want to be is something more.)

He thinks sometimes that it should hurt. That it should hurt to visit Camp Half Blood and see it milling with new faces, that it should hurt to spend so much of his year away from Nw York and his family. It had hurt unbearably at first, but now time had weathered the sting soft. Time didn't heal, not really, but it gave you practice. It gave you space.

Percy runs up the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum Of Art because his girlfriend wants to look at the new additions to the exhibit on Sumerian art, and they laugh quietly as they pass through the Greek and Roman exhibit. Percy can't tell the spaces where the shadows of his first Greek monster hid, but he doesn't need to. There's a bit of nostalgia sprinkled in, but no pain.

Nostalgia isn't the most flattering emotion. It's what often times spurs racism and atrocious songs about going back to high school. But it's one of the most comfortable. Percy might have thought he'd outgrown this life, but it stills fits like an old glove.

Percy doesn't want to forget. He doesn't really want to remember. But he thinks that either of the options won't hurt him. His life isn't great at this point, but it isn't the worst.

He thinks he likes this life best, and he decides this when his girlfriend laughs and kisses him behind the stone statue of some Greek philosopher or the other. He decides this when he sits at the edge of the lake at camp and kicks up the water. He thinks he likes knowing what he could have lost, but didn't.

He thinks that there's a small part of him that, despite this beautiful peace, despite the hurt and pain of his life…he's enjoyed the thrill. He's enjoyed this ride.

Sometimes, a little more made everyone feel special, however dangerous it could be. He looks at the sea of new campers, and the changing tides of fortune. He may have wanted to change the world, but…the world does that on its own.

He thinks back at his life.

He looks back.


End file.
